Page 28 of Daughters of Paris

Delphine rolled her eyes. ‘Your father works hard to earn the money we need to be happy and I work hard to make our lives beautiful with what he gives me. That includes his daughter. Oh, will I ever him again? Will I ever return to Paris? I need a cocktail. Why didn’t I tell Fleur to pack something to drink? Boiled eggs and bottled peaches are all very well but I would rather she had made space for gin.’

Colette ground her teeth, though couldn’t deny that listening to Delphine’s complaints made her long for a drink herself. She couldn’t think of anything to say that would not result in a fight so sank lower into her seat and stared at the road ahead. Her mother must have been less self-centred when she married her father because she could not imagine hard-working Louis choosing a wife like this.

It was little wonder Louis admired Fleur who seemed to have the sense the rest of his household lacked. The look of disappointment in his eyes when Colette had admitted her pregnancy was seared onto her mind. If she ever saw her father again, she would double her efforts to become someone he could be proud of.

But what if she never saw her father again? Her guts squirmed and tightened. She pressed her fist into her belly to stop them. They should have forced him into the car with them whether or not it meant the factory fell to the Germans.

Finally Fleur returned. Her dress was stained with sweat patches and her hair was coming out of its usually neat roll. She laid the bicycle on its side and sat beside it with her legs stretched out.

‘Do we have any water?’ she asked in a raspy voice.

‘Only the milk,’ Colette told her. She found the bottle and passed it to Fleur who took a sip and licked her lips.

‘Drink it all, if you want,’ Colette suggested but Fleur shook her head.

‘We’ll need it later. I passed through a village but the shops are all crowded and people are pushing to get in. By the time we get there the shelves will be empty.’

‘What does the road look like?’ Delphine asked. ‘Are we going to be able to move soon?’

Fleur scraped back her hair with her fingers. ‘It’s at a standstill for miles. I can’t see the end of the queue. Everybody has had the same thought. There are parents begging drivers to take their children. Old women lying by the roadside with handcarts or basket chairs. It’s horrible.’

A gust of wind blew dust across the front of the car and from above came the sound of engines in the sky, then gunshots. Rapid punctuations of terror.

The three women shrieked, their voices joining the rising chorus of screams, and Colette seized Fleur’s hand and pulled her into the passenger seat, cramming them both in together. Not far ahead, three German planes dived low across the road, releasing volleys of bullets before rising up again.

Colette gasped. ‘They’re firing on us!’

Fleur clutched her hand. ‘Thosesalauds! On women and children! How could they?Baise-les tous.’

She let fly a further torrent of obscenities – some of which Colette hadn’t even heard before – calling down hell on the pilots. Colette sat stunned into silence. To see Fleur lose her composure in such a way was the most startling part of the day. She began to sob; hot tears burning down her cheeks. She felt Fleur’s arms come about her and she wrapped hers around Fleur. Delphine joined in the embrace and the three women hugged each other and sobbed. For the first time that day Colette felt safe, huddling inside the car, while the world exploded ahead of them.

Whether they had run out of ammunition or merely decided the message had been sent, the planes left then. The women clambered out of the car. All around, others were doing similar, inspecting vehicles and each other. Hugging with relief. Weeping. The woman with the fur and convertible Peugeot Eclipse stood staring at her car.

‘We shouldn’t have put the roof down,’ she wailed.

The sky was growing cloudy and the first hints of evening were starting to show in a subtle change of temperature and a haze on the horizon.

‘I don’t feel safe after the attack and we’re getting nowhere. We should go back,’ Fleur said.

‘To Paris?’

‘Yes. I am even if you aren’t.’ Fleur dragged her suitcase from the pile inside the car and fixed her hat back into place. She picked up the bicycle and cocked her head at Colette with her brows raised.

It was a tantalising proposition. To be home. To sleep in her own bed. Take a bath. Eat something besides stale bread rolls and boiled eggs. Colette’s stomach growled and her mouth filled with bitter liquid. She spat onto the ground beside her, not caring how unladylike the gesture was.

‘You’re right. I’d rather die there than die by the side of the road. I’ll come with you.’

‘We can’t possibly turn the car around,’ Delphine said.

Colette lifted her chin. ‘Then we’ll walk.’

‘But it will take all night,’ Delphine moaned.

Colette shrugged. ‘Then we had better start walking, Fleur, will you help me pile as much onto the bicycle as possible? We can wheel it between us.’

The two women roped the cases together and balanced them between the saddle and handlebars. Colette looked at Delphine.

‘Mère, are you coming?’

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